"Do you think," the Kitten asked anxiously, "that there's enough room at the top for it to squeege froo? I can't bear those wings rustling."
Mrs Ffolliot switched on the light. "You can see for yourself."
"Thank you, mummy dear, I'll be much happier by myself, really," and the Kitten lay down quite contentedly.
CHAPTER VIII
GENTLEMAN GER
It was the 22nd of December, the younger Ffolliots were gathered in the schoolroom, and Ger was in disgrace.
The twins were back from school, and that afternoon they had unbent sufficiently to take part in a representation of "Sherlock Holmes" in the hall. The whole family, with the exception of the Kitten, had seen the play in the Artillery Theatre at Woolwich during their last visit to grandfather.
It is a play that not only admits of, but necessitates, varied and loud noises.
Everything ought to have gone without a hitch, for earlier in the afternoon Mr Ffolliot had departed in the carriage to take the chair at a lecture in Marlehouse; and a little later Grantly had driven his mother to the station in the dogcart to meet a guest.
Unfortunately the lecture on Carpaccio at the Literary Institute was of unusually short duration, and Mr Ffolliot returned tired and rather cross, just as Ger was enacting the hansom cab accident at the foot of the staircase, by beating a deafening tattoo on the Kitten's bath with a hair-brush.